


Everything

by lesdemonium (winnerstick)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hair Braiding, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnerstick/pseuds/lesdemonium
Summary: The firelight glowed against Jaskier’s skin beautifully, and Geralt thought for a moment about lifting to kiss Jaskier, only to realize that Jaskier was staring at him. It was different than just looking, as he had been doing before. Now, Jaskier’s eyes were stuck on Geralt’s, and his face had fallen into a soft smile. Maybe his expression could even be described as tender, and Geralt didn’t know what to do with that unbidden thought. No one had ever looked at Geralttenderlybefore.“What?” Geralt finally huffed, his voice sounding gruffer than he meant it to. It was either that or start squirming, though, and Geralt wasn’t about to give Jaskier the satisfaction. It seemed to work. Jaskier snapped out of whatever reverie he had been in, and just grinned at Geralt.“Nothing. Just… looking at you. It’s nothing.”For the prompt "Things you said but not out loud"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 78
Kudos: 637





	Everything

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble request. Ha. HA. Ha. Almost 8k words of fluff later.

Jaskier’s chest felt warm beneath Geralt’s hands. He felt the soft rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest as he breathed, and Geralt was pretty sure he had never felt this peaceful before. Jaskier, of course, was playing his lute, a soft tune as he leaned his back against Geralt’s chest, and Geralt leaned against the large log behind them. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but something would have to actively attack them for Geralt to allow himself to be drawn away. With Jaskier between his legs, and Geralt’s head on Jaskier’s shoulder, he felt safe.

“You played that song already,” Geralt mumbled.

Jaskier scoffed. “So you  _ are _ paying attention. I thought you might be. I happen to like that song.”

“It doesn’t even have any words.”

“Of course it has words, darling. I didn’t want to interrupt the nice almost-silence.”

Geralt snorted at that, and Jaskier swatted at his arm. “Since when have you ever  _ not _ taken an opportunity to start singing?” he asked, biting back a laugh as Jaskier made unintelligible, offended noises.

“We were having a nice moment,  _ Geralt _ . Then you had to go and cock it up. It’s rude. Completely impertinent. See if I ever share a quiet moment with you again. Nope. All bard, all the time, from now on. And you have no one to blame but yourself.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how that’s different from normal.”

Jaskier turned abruptly in Geralt’s arms, lifting himself to sit on his knees. His hand clamped over Geralt’s mouth and his expression would look murderous if his eyes didn’t look downright  _ gleeful _ .

“I never thought I’d say this to you, but you really need to stop talking, Geralt of Rivia. Before you say something we both regret. I thought we were having a nice night and then you had to come in and-- _ ew _ , Geralt, did you just  _ lick me _ ?” Jaskier snatched his hand away, his face contorting in showy disgust.

“When I do it now it’s  _ ew _ , but when I did it last night it was  _ Oh, Gods, Geralt, don’t stop _ \--” 

Geralt was laughing as soon as Jaskier tackled him to the ground, and he let himself be pushed to the side of the log. Jaskier hovered above him, holding himself over Geralt with one hand pressed against the ground by Geralt’s ear, the other covering Geralt’s mouth again. Geralt quirked an eyebrow and looked down at his hand meaningfully, and Jaskier scowled before pulling his hand away again.

“All I had to do to turn you on was mock you?” Geralt teased, and knew he fully deserved the smack on his shoulder.

“You are, quite honestly, the  _ worst _ human  _ or witcher _ \--Gods, Geralt, you’re so predictable, let me finish my damned thought--I have ever met. I can’t believe I've chosen  _ you _ . Is it too late to take it back? Maybe pick another witcher? I have a feeling Eskel and I would get along  _ swimmingly _ .”

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. Jaskier’s gaze softened, just slightly, and when Geralt released his hand, Jaskier caressed the side of Geralt’s face.

“It’s too late,” Geralt confirmed, nodding somberly. “You already wrote a song about one witcher. Might look like a harlot if you start singing about others.”

Jaskier sighed, but couldn’t school his expression enough to keep the smile off his face. “Me? Look like a harlot? Can’t have that. Good thing I have you to keep my reputation intact. Suppose I’m stuck with you, then.”

Geralt nodded, and took the forearm by his ear in his hand. The firelight glowed against Jaskier’s skin beautifully, and Geralt thought for a moment about lifting to kiss Jaskier, only to realize that Jaskier was  _ staring _ at him. It was different than just looking, as he had been doing before. Now, Jaskier’s eyes were stuck on Geralt’s, and his face had fallen into a soft smile. Maybe his expression could even be described as tender, and Geralt didn’t know what to do with that unbidden thought. No one had ever looked at Geralt  _ tenderly _ before.

“What?” Geralt finally huffed, his voice sounding gruffer than he meant it to. It was either that or start squirming, though, and Geralt wasn’t about to give Jaskier the satisfaction. It seemed to work. Jaskier snapped out of whatever reverie he had been in, and just grinned at Geralt.

“Nothing. Just… looking at you. It’s nothing.” 

He pulled back, climbing off Geralt, and Geralt was suddenly longing for the warmth of his body. Jaskier held out his hand to Geralt and helped him up. Geralt accepted the help, but kept looking at Jaskier, his eyebrow raised. There was definitely something  _ there _ in that look Jaskier had given him. Geralt was willing to bet there were about a hundred things Jaskier had thought in the time he had been staring at Geralt, but Geralt didn’t know how to ask him. Usually, Jaskier just told him, with very little provocation.

Such as when they kissed the first time. They had pulled away and, though they were both breathless, Jaskier still rambled on and  _ on _ about how long he had wanted to do that. How it was just as good as he had imagined it, better, even. When they had first laid together, Geralt was pretty sure Jaskier had said everything that came to mind as soon as it did. It felt like he did. Every time Jaskier gave Geralt fully bared honesty, Geralt had felt so much warmer, had held Jaskier a little tighter, but found it even harder to speak. 

When they had woken up the next morning, still tangled in each other, Jaskier had told Geralt he loved him. He said that he wanted to tell him clearly, and that he didn’t want Geralt to think he only said it in the heat of the moment. Jaskier didn’t expect Geralt to say it back, he had made that very clear, and Geralt had allowed Jaskier to say the words over and over again, pressed to his skin between kisses given all along Geralt’s body. Geralt felt something inside him unfurl steadily as Jaskier spoke the words enough times that they almost didn’t sound like words anymore, but still he found he could hardly look at Jaskier as he did it, and for a long time afterward.

Jaskier hadn’t pulled away, despite Geralt’s obvious attempts to hide. Jaskier stayed, and so Geralt stayed.

Jaskier keeping his thoughts to himself with Geralt was… new. Geralt wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but apparently it wasn’t anything too horrible, because as Geralt sat up, Jaskier tucked into his side. Jaskier pressed a kiss to Geralt’s shoulder, despite it being covered with Geralt’s shirt, and he picked up his lute again. Geralt hummed, because he couldn’t shrug without dislodging Jaskier, and accepted it. Maybe it really was nothing.

\--

Geralt was exhausted. The fight hadn’t gone the way it should have. It should have been simple, just a case of drowners, but one had gotten away from the rest and Geralt had been too caught up in the fight in front of him to notice the attack coming from behind. Now Geralt came back to their inn later than he had said, with a giant gash on his arm, and in a  _ foul _ mood.

Jaskier was waiting up, because of course he was. Geralt tried to brush him off, tried to push past him into the room to take care of the wound, but Jaskier brushed off Geralt’s behavior in return like it was nothing. Before Geralt knew it, he was ushered onto the bed, his supplies taken from his hands, and  _ Jaskier _ was inspecting his wound.

“Jaskier, you don’t have to--”

“Is this your only one?” Jaskier interrupted. He glanced around the room, then rose and retrieved Geralt’s waterskin. 

“What?”

Jaskier looked at him patiently as he returned, taking Geralt’s arm in his hand. He upturned the waterskin on Geralt’s wound, dabbing it lightly with a rag, then he rifled through Geralt’s bag. “Is this your only wound? Or do you have more? Bruises, I’m sure?”

Geralt was quiet for a moment, just watching Jaskier. Apparently for too long, because Jaskier, who had been wholly focused on his task, finally met Geralt’s eye again with an eyebrow raised. “Some bruises. Nothing else.”

Jaskier hummed and peered back down at Geralt’s now bandage-covered arm. He tied it off, and Geralt didn’t even need to correct him or re-tie it himself. The wound wasn’t terrible, it’d likely be nothing more than a red mark by morning, but it  _ was _ still bleeding now, and Jaskier had wrapped it tightly enough that Geralt could feel the bleeding start to slow, but loose enough that he wasn’t worried about his circulation being cut off. When had Jaskier figured out how to appropriately tie off open cuts?

“I could have done that,” Geralt finally said. He almost didn’t; he didn’t want to break the silence, but he almost couldn’t stand the way Jaskier was quietly cleaning the dried blood off his arm.

“Of course you could have,” Jaskier agreed. He paused for a moment, turning Geralt’s hand over and checking for any more mess. He seemed appeased, and Jaskier leaned in to press a kiss against the bandage, just below the knot. Geralt’s breath caught in his throat, but Jaskier pulled away and smiled at Geralt like it hadn’t even happened. “But you didn’t need to.”

The last remaining bit of tension left Geralt’s body as he gathered his bard up in his arms. Geralt knew Jaskier was confused--delighted, but confused--as Geralt pressed quick, messy kisses along Jaskier’s jaw, neck, and shoulders by his soft giggling. Geralt needed this, though. He didn’t know how to thank Jaskier for knowing exactly what he needed, exactly how to pull Geralt back out of his head. Words had never been his strong suit, but Jaskier knew that, and accepted him anyway. Wanted him anyway.

Maybe Geralt’s mouth had never been able to form the right words to say, but they could map Jaskier’s body like it belonged to Geralt. There was something powerful and heady about the way Geralt could render Jaskier speechless or, most often, incomprehensible. Geralt was a man of action. Jaskier was a man of words, but he responded well to action. He melted into Geralt and allowed himself to be thanked as their bodies rocked together, slowly, carefully, even  _ lovingly _ .

Jaskier stayed curled up against Geralt long after they were spent. 

\--

“Geralt, you are doing it  _ all wrong _ ,” Jaskier whined, sounding wholly exasperated.

Geralt rolled his eyes at Jaskier and continued combing his fingers through his hair, harshly. “There’s no  _ wrong _ way to clean my hair, Jaskier,” he answered.

“I didn’t think there was, but you have wholly and completely proven me wrong. Stop, stop, stop. It’s a wonder your hair is as gorgeous and soft as it is. Because you are  _ destroying it at this very moment _ .” Geralt huffed at Jaskier’s tirade, but didn’t stop until Jaskier was upon him, swatting away Geralt’s hands with a seriousness that actually had Geralt letting go. “If you don’t mind, I am extremely attached to this fine hair of yours, and I cannot just sit and watch you torment it so. Let me do this.”

“You are being ridiculous,” Geralt said with a sigh. 

He couldn’t help but relax into the water, though, as Jaskier combed his fingers through Geralt’s hair, then replaced his fingers with an actual comb. Even Geralt had to admit there was something unrelentingly  _ nice _ about this feeling. It wasn’t often that Geralt indulged in luxuries--it was best not to develop a taste for them, with the life a witcher led--but if Jaskier was going to offer, then Geralt had no qualms with accepting it. And Jaskier taking care of his hair  _ was _ luxurious. 

With Jaskier working, not quite silently because he hummed all the while, Geralt found himself relaxing to the point of nearly drifting off. Geralt was sure Jaskier was being a bit overkill, definitely combing the strands out far more than was necessary to rid them of soap, but he couldn't complain. It was hypnotic, the gentle tug, the scratching at his scalp, even the smell of the oils. Geralt didn’t know how long he had laid there, dozing in and out, until Jaskier pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m done. You’re getting pruney and the water’s getting cold,” Jaskier whispered, like he didn’t want to startle Geralt.

Geralt was, honestly, a bit sad to leave the comfort of it all. He did climb out, though, and dried himself off, though at Jaskier’s indignant sounds he allowed the bard to dry his hair--apparently he was doing  _ that _ wrong, too. Once suitably dry, Jaskier pushed him none too gently to the bed, wielding the comb again. 

“I thought you were  _ done _ ,” Geralt scoffed.

Jaskier’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. Geralt wanted to kiss it and see if his face was warm, but he just barely resisted. “Almost. Can I?”

Geralt shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him, and sat himself down on the mattress. Jaskier climbed up behind him, his knees on either side of Geralt’s hips as he sat on his legs to give him extra height. 

“Tilt your head back a little,” Jaskier ordered, and Geralt complied.

This time wasn’t quite as relaxing as in the bath, and not nearly as comfortable, but Geralt still found himself bending into Jaskier’s gentle touches. Witchers weren’t supposed to grow accustomed to luxuries, but he hoped that this, like Jaskier dressing his wounds, could become a routine.

“Can I braid it?” Jaskier asked, a while later.

Geralt shrugged. “Just don’t get too fancy. I need it out of my face, not ornate.”

Jaskier’s responding laugh was breathy beside Geralt’s ear as his fingers went to work. He went slowly, probably slower than he strictly needed to, like Jaskier wanted this to last, too. Despite this, soon, far too soon, he was finished, and tied the simple braid off with the same leather tie Geralt usually used to tie his hair back out of his face.

Jaskier didn’t say anything when he was done, but he did lean forward and press his chest against Geralt’s back. His hands trailed down Geralt’s arms, feeling the muscles as he went, and Jaskier pressed a kiss to Geralt’s shoulder blade. Geralt reached behind him and carded his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and leaned his head against Jaskier’s. He felt more than heard Jaskier’s soft laugh.

“You’re welcome, my white wolf,” Jaskier said without a hint of humor or teasing. He pressed another kiss against Geralt’s shoulder and they stayed there a moment before he pulled away to dress for bed.

The braid lasted for three days. Jaskier’s next one was far less simple, though he insisted it still wasn’t  _ ornate _ .

\--

Geralt was honestly embarrassed it had taken him so long to notice, but Jaskier hadn’t, not once, told Geralt he loved him after that first morning. 

Geralt blamed it on the fact that he wasn’t exactly used to hearing the words, anyway. People weren’t exactly falling over themselves to tell the witcher that they loved him, especially not bed partners. It wasn’t exactly surprising; Geralt had never let anyone close enough to him to hear the words. Perhaps Yen had been closest, and Geralt was certain they both  _ felt _ it, but the words had never been spoken aloud, and probably never would be in that context. Definitely not while Jaskier was around.

But Jaskier hadn’t said it again after that day. It wasn’t like Geralt was yearning for it; if he had gone this long without that particular declaration, he could go even longer with no issue. But it was a bit… disconcerting. Jaskier wore his heart not only on his sleeve, but also in his eyes, on his lips, and in the motion of his fingers. When he had been with the Countess, Jaskier wrote poetry to her, endlessly sung her praises, told Geralt exactly how much he loved her. One time, Geralt had developed a drinking game. Every time Jaskier mentioned being in love with the Countess, Geralt took a drink. Geralt’s gait was wobbly by the time Jaskier finally took leave of Geralt that night, and Geralt became lost on his way up the stairs. Three times. 

When Jaskier was in love, the whole world knew it. He made sure of it. And while Geralt knew that the odd passerby was well aware of Jaskier’s connection to the witcher, Geralt was baffled as to why Jaskier would not say anything to the  _ object _ of his affection. Unless Geralt had done something wrong.

For weeks, Geralt watched Jaskier. Nothing about his behavior was off. When they made camp, Jaskier leaned against Geralt’s body as he composed, and gave him lingering kisses, some with intent and paired with wandering hands, and some purposeless and sweet. When Geralt went on hunts, Jaskier either followed entirely too close despite Geralt’s warnings to  _ get back _ or he stayed behind and waited up for Geralt’s return. If Geralt was injured, he dressed Geralt’s wounds and pressed soft kisses to each one. As Geralt bathed, he brushed Geralt’s hair and wove the strands into increasingly intricate designs. Jaskier had even started to make Geralt new ties, after complaining that the one Geralt had been using was growing worn and had taken on a consistency that Jaskier  _ swore _ was due to monster blood and guts.

Jaskier kissed Geralt like there was nothing else he would rather be doing. He teased Geralt and squabbled with him like it was a game, and one he wanted to win, but would gladly lose if it meant getting Geralt between his legs, or Jaskier between Geralt’s. He rarely seemed angry, except when Geralt was being particularly taciturn or willfully misunderstanding Jaskier’s point, instances of which were growing rarer by the day. As contracts and responsibilities drew them away from each other, he was reluctant, even sorrowful, to leave. Upon their return, his happiness was tangible, and he threw himself at Geralt with wild abandon, pressing kisses to Geralt’s lips until they were both out of breath.

And yet, he did not say he loved Geralt.

Geralt knew he should ask. That was one of the few things they still quarrelled about--Geralt’s refusal to voice his concerns and questions until they became a  _ problem _ . He knew that Jaskier would give him some honeyed words, maybe even say  _ the _ words to placate Geralt, before kissing away his frown and smoothing away the lines on Geralt’s forehead with his thumb.

Still, though, with all evidence to the contrary, Geralt was afraid. Afraid he would hear the words, and hear a lie. The tick of Jaskier’s heart that it made every time Jaskier, who could convince a king that the sky was green without blinking, told a lie.

\--

“Geralt, pleeeeease,” Jaskier whined, his body draped across Geralt’s back as he put his full weight onto Geralt. “Please, Geralt, I’ll do anything. Absolutely anything.”

Geralt snorted. “You already don’t take much convincing to do  _ absolutely anything _ , Jaskier.”

Jaskier groaned, and Geralt felt the vibration all along his back. “You are heinous. Please, Geralt, I’m  _ begging you _ . Do this for me.”

“You’re not really begging yet.” 

Jaskier swatted his arm and Geralt grinned, but continued sewing his shirt. Jaskier would not be ignored, however, and had apparently decided that his best course of action was  _ annoyance _ , judging by the way he was now swaying against Geralt’s back. Geralt tried to keep his fingers steady, tried to resist Jaskier’s movement, but it would have taken more force than he was willing to spend on this particular act of reticence. He put down the shirt and Jaskier just barely quelled his pleased noise.

“Geralt, it would really, truly, mean the world to me if you came to the banquet tomorrow. I know you hate them, but it’s  _ free food _ and  _ wine _ . You don’t have to talk to anyone except me. You have my full permission to just brood in the corner like the antisocial beast you are.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Surely you don’t need a bodyguard. You haven’t spent any time with royal or noble daughters lately. Unless you’ve been particularly adventurous while I’ve been out hunting.”

Jaskier shook his head against Geralt’s back. “I don’t want you there as a bodyguard. I want you there as my… friend.” The word sounded lame on Jaskier’s tongue, like he hadn’t quite expected to say it, and found it didn’t quite fit in his mouth. 

Geralt turned his head to peer at Jaskier, who was resolutely  _ not _ looking back at him. Jaskier pressed his cheek against Geralt’s back, his face turned away.

“Ah, yes. As a friend,” Geralt hummed, rolling his eyes. He turned back to his sewing.

“I don’t know what word you want me to use. I didn’t want to embarrass you when I’m trying very hard to get you to do something for me. Companion? Lover? Bedmate? Paramour? What word encapsulates what we are to each other?” Jaskier asked, sounding frustrated.

“It doesn’t matter. Friend is fine.”

“Of course it  _ matters _ . Words have  _ meanings _ . Specific, full, insightful meanings. They let people know how to proceed and react. They let people know what you are to me. I want to use an accurate one, but I don’t know what word  _ you _ would have me use.” The breath he let out was harsh, but instead of pulling away, he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist.

“You want me to go just to accompany you?” Geralt asked after a short silence. Jaskier sighed, but the nod was unmistakable. “Fine. I’ll go. But if the father of a scorned lover accosts you, I will only watch while  _ you _ handle it.”

“ _ Thank you _ , Geralt. Really. It means a lot to me. Even if you are uncouth enough that I am afraid you will willfully embarrass me.” 

Jaskier nipped at Geralt’s shoulder playfully, then rested his head against Geralt’s back again. Geralt had to admit it was comfortable, having Jaskier this close while he worked. Jaskier seemed to agree, because he stayed there long enough that Geralt was half-convinced he had dozed off. When Jaskier finally spoke again, Geralt wasn’t startled, but he was surprised.

“You didn’t answer my question, though. If someone asks, what should I say? What  _ am _ I to you?” Jaskier asked, his voice soft. Geralt didn’t have to hear Jaskier’s racing heartbeat to know Jaskier was nervous; it was woven into the shakiness of his words.

Geralt thought for a long moment, silently trying the words Jaskier had offered on his tongue, and a few of his own.  _ Suitor. Partner. Beloved. _ None of them sounded quite right, or they sounded  _ too _ right. Jaskier was correct in saying words had specific meanings. Geralt wasn’t sure he was prepared to actualize those meanings yet.

“Mine,” he finally settled on. He dropped his shirt to the floor, and rested his hands over Jaskier’s. “All mine.”

Jaskier’s heart continued to race long after they fell into bed together. He rode Geralt, slow and reverently, his eyes full of so many words Geralt couldn’t begin to translate. But he could understand from the way Jaskier kept holding Geralt’s face and capturing his lips, Jaskier was happy with Geralt’s name for him.

\--

Geralt shouldn’t have been surprised when Jaskier fussed, but he didn’t think he had ever seen Jaskier so concerned over  _ Geralt’s _ appearance.

Jaskier insisted on dressing Geralt. Geralt was hesitant to agree at first, but once Jaskier promised that this time he was more prepared and he wouldn’t look like a sad silk trader, Geralt relented. Jaskier had delivered. Geralt was far more comfortable this time, outfitted in a black tunic actually made for his measurements. Geralt had been shocked when Jaskier pulled that out of nowhere--apparently he had been anticipating an invitation like this, and wanted to be prepared. It was even studded, it looked and felt almost like armor, and Geralt couldn’t help but be a bit touched that Jaskier would go to that effort to not only make Geralt look good, but feel more at ease.

He had spent so much time kissing Jaskier that Jaskier finally had laughed and shoved him off with a  _ Geralt, stop it, you’ll make us late! _ It was at least worth a shot, but apparently Jaskier would not be distracted. No matter how many times his eyes had lingered on Geralt’s attire, or how compelled he seemed to feel to touch it. Geralt was beginning to understand, in a small way, why Jaskier enjoyed attention so much.

At the banquet, however, he was relieved to slink into the shadows. Jaskier was playing his heart out, charming his audience, and Geralt was perfectly happy to allow him to have the entire floor. The less people realized what Geralt was, the better, lest they have another situation like Pavetta’s betrothal feast. Geralt had no intention of finding himself at the table of this particular lord.

Geralt was so busy watching Jaskier, enjoying the way he flirted with and charmed his audience and still found a moment here and there to wink or smile at Geralt, that he didn’t notice the familiar figure stalk up to him.

“You’re losing your touch, Geralt,” Yennefer said, and Geralt resolutely did  _ not _ jump. 

He should have been paying attention, should have caught the scent of lilac and gooseberries earlier, but he was so caught up in watching Jaskier that he hadn’t. He’d have to do better the rest of the night. These events had a tendency to go south. At least, when Geralt was involved. And when Jaskier was involved.

“Good to see you, Yen. Are you residing in this lord’s court?” he asked, sparing her a glance.

“Hardly. Only passing through. This lord loves a party, and he insisted I attend after I helped him with a potion for his wife. They’re trying to conceive, you see.” Her face tightened a bit, but she took a drink of her wine and the tension was gone. Like it had never happened. “He said something about a famed bard performing. I had a fear it was yours. Apparently I was correct.”

Geralt grunted. Jaskier had been talking about this banquet the last two weeks. The needling for Geralt to attend as well only began about two days prior. He should have known, honestly, what was in store for him. It was far too hopeful for him to assume that Jaskier would let him stay in their room while the banquet went on, but Geralt supposed it could have been worse. All things considered, Jaskier really had tried to make this as pleasant an experience for Geralt as possible. Yen being there helped, too.

“The braids are new,” Yen said, reaching out and touching them. Jaskier had gone a little overboard today, but Geralt had decided to let him have that. This time.

“Jaskier. He likes doing them.”

Yennefer didn’t respond for a moment, and Geralt turned his head to see her smirking. He regretted it immediately. Geralt didn’t blush, but it was a near thing.

“I suppose that answers the question of why the tie matches Jaskier’s doublet  _ exactly _ .” She thumbed her way down a longer braid. “He really wanted this one to show up. It’s woven through the braid. Feeling a bit possessive lately, is he? Geralt, has your eye been caught by another?”

“His hair seems to have been,” Jaskier answered, pressing himself against Geralt on his other side. “Working your particular brand of magic here, Yennefer? Everyone’s still clothed, I’m surprised.”

“I prefer better mood music for my parties, bard,” Yennefer replied smoothly. “No amount of magic can keep parties interested when they’re being screeched at.”

Jaskier gaped at her, clearly trying  _ very _ hard to devise a comeback for that. Geralt thought about heading him off and changing the subject so they would stop their barbs at each other (they wouldn’t, but he could try). Instead, he took a drink from his ale. Often it was best to leave them to it.

“So, you’re playing dress up with Geralt now?” Yennefer asked when, after a brief pause, Jaskier was unable to come up with anything intelligible to fire back at her.

“This isn’t exactly the place for his armor, is it?” His arms crossed defensively over his chest.

Yennefer tugged at Geralt’s braid pointedly and Geralt finally swatted her hand away. Jaskier’s face tinged pink and he turned away, facing the rest of the banquet hall again.

“I am slightly impressed by your overt subtlety. Should I consider this your betrothal announcement?”

Jaskier immediately tensed and his face grew even redder. He didn’t bother to look at either Geralt or Yennefer before he bit out, “I need to return to my performance,” and all-but ran away. Once he was back among the other party-goers, the tension bled from him and he put on a smile, but it didn’t quite reach Jaskier’s eyes.

“You did that on purpose,” Geralt sighed. Now Jaskier would be in a  _ mood _ for the rest of the night, and Geralt wasn’t entirely convinced he knew what to do to pull him out of it.

“I’m only admiring the hints he left for  _ you _ . His issue isn’t with me noticing, it’s with you  _ not _ noticing.” Yennefer took a sip from her wine and shrugged her shoulders, as if she had spoken  _ plainly _ .

“What are you talking about?”

Yennefer rolled her eyes at Geralt. “Geralt, honestly. He has you, and he’s still tripping over himself to show you how much he cares for you. It would be sweet if it wasn’t getting so godsdamned ridiculous. Could you throw him a bone and give him something back so he finds less extravagant ways to tell you and everyone else how much he loves you?”

“He hasn’t  _ said _ he loves me. Not for almost a year now.” Geralt didn’t sound bitter. He  _ didn’t _ . He was only confused by it.

“And how did you react when he did? Did you say it back?”

“No, I--” he cut himself off, frowning. He had gotten embarrassed and hid. Geralt had allowed Jaskier to continue to say it, but he didn’t say it back--he couldn’t, then--and had stopped talking altogether for the rest of the morning. Fuck. “I didn’t say anything. For hours.”

“You are an idiot and I’ve no idea how you’ve made it this far,” Yennefer scoffed into her drink. She finished the wine as if talking to Geralt was a great hardship for her. “You’re more comfortable with actions, so he’s speaking  _ your  _ language. It might be about time you speak  _ his _ language back before he hits a peak of desperation even our shameless bard will be embarrassed by.”

She handed off the goblet to a nearby servant, then fixed Geralt with a stare that had he been human, probably would have had him shrinking back. If he and Jaskier hadn’t been doing whatever it was that they were doing, it probably would have made him go home with her. As it was, Geralt just felt chastised.

“I’m leaving now. Think, for once in your life. And enjoy the fact that your bard is adorning you.”

\--

Jaskier was avoiding Geralt. It was subtle, and would have been hard to fully explain, due to the fact that Jaskier was currently walking with Geralt and chatting to him about the night, but Geralt knew. They were not touching, not even in a small way, when Geralt normally could expect to have Jaskier hanging on him, or holding his hand, or letting Geralt lead him with a hand on the small of his back. Any time Geralt got too close, Jaskier side-stepped away. He hadn’t looked Geralt in the eye, or even let Geralt look at his face for more than a second.

The entirety of the banquet, his mood had been off. His smiles Geralt’s way were quick and tight, and even his flirting with his audience had been dulled. Geralt wanted to blame Yennefer. He wanted to track her down and yell at her for ruining tonight for Jaskier, but he knew it ultimately wasn’t her fault. Maybe she had called attention to what Jaskier had been doing, but Geralt had been the one ignoring it for so long.

Recognizing that didn’t bring him any closer to figuring out what to  _ do _ about it, though. He just let Jaskier yammer on and tried to smile fondly at him whenever Jaskier glanced his way, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to wrap his arms around Jaskier and kiss him breathless, but Geralt was sure even  _ that _ wouldn’t be enough. Actions were Geralt’s language. Words were Jaskier’s.

When they made it back to their room--a nice one in a respectable inn, with a real mattress, rather than one filled with straw that poked them as they slept--Jaskier was still avoiding him. Jaskier flitted about the room, dressing for bed and putting away his clothes carefully. He even invented a few tasks, such as reorganizing his oils and refolding the doublet he had worn earlier in the day, as Geralt watched him move from his perch on the bed.

“Jaskier?” Geralt finally said, as Jaskier was shifting the position of Geralt’s swords, straightening them out despite the fact that it  _ didn’t matter _ .

“Yes?” Jaskier answered, and though he was clearly trying to go for distracted, Geralt could hear the telltale skip of his heart.

“Can you help me with my braid?”

Jaskier stopped and finally,  _ finally _ turned to look at Geralt. He stared for a long moment and Geralt watched his throat bob as Jaskier swallowed before responding.

“You want me to do your hair?” he asked. Geralt didn’t blame him for the obvious confusion. Though Jaskier braiding Geralt’s hair had become routine for them, Geralt never  _ asked _ for it. He had always thought that would be too much. But something inside Jaskier was unlocking, and Geralt was going to go for it.

“Part of it came out,” Geralt answered, holding up the strand that he, himself, had pulled out. Jaskier didn’t need to know that bit of trivia. “It looks lopsided now. Could you… fix it? Please?”

Jaskier hesitated for a second, only a second, before he took his place behind Geralt. With slightly trembling fingers, so slight that even Jaskier probably didn’t notice it, he began to take down the tiny braids he had woven Geralt’s hair into. When he came to the larger, main braid, Geralt took his hand, and turned to press a kiss to Jaskier’s palm.

“Not that part. I want your embellishment.”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat and he gently took his hand back. “It’s--the braid is messy, now. I could. Do another one? And put it back in?” he asked.

Geralt nodded, turning his head back to allow Jaskier to work again. Now, there was a difference in the way Jaskier was touching Geralt. He had been gentle before, but it was in a perfunctory way. The way Jaskier’s fingers were now moving through Geralt’s hair was lingering. He was taking his time, braiding Geralt’s hair exactly the way he wanted to, and enjoying the closeness. Geralt was enjoying it, too, and for once  _ allowed _ himself to enjoy it, wholeheartedly.

When Jaskier was finished, far too soon, Geralt turned and took Jaskier’s face in his hands. He thumbed along Jaskier’s cheekbones and just looked at him until Jaskier was fidgeting under the attention.

“Geralt, you’re being a bit… strange. Is everything alright?” Jaskier asked, though he was smiling under his embarrassment.

“It is now,” Geralt answered. He pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s nose, and when he pulled back, Jaskier’s eyes were still closed, but his smile had grown. “You don’t have to hide this. I will gladly wear what you give me, particularly if it ties me to you. Even if others notice. I am not ashamed to be yours.”

Geralt barely got the words out before Jaskier was kissing him. He would likely have to redo the braid in the morning, judging by how tightly he was gathering Geralt’s hair in his fists. Geralt let himself be moved, pulled, dragged under Jaskier’s current. He could drown here, and he would go happily.

\--

This particular fight had gone badly. Thank the gods Jaskier was there to pull Geralt out when he had finally defeated the cockatrices. Cockatrices were difficult enough when there was only one of them, but this time there had been  _ three _ . Geralt had just narrowly managed to kill them all before he passed out.

He definitely lost time. Every time he woke up, just for mere seconds, he was in a new place. First he was in the forest, where he had fallen, then he saw a different set of trees, then he could hear the distant crackling of a fire. Sometimes he saw Jaskier, bloodied and looking exhausted, and sometimes he couldn’t tell where his bard was, Geralt’s own senses shot by the pain and exhaustion. His brain was hazy, his eyes unfocused, and yet every so often he was aware of the soft press of trembling fingers, of a potion being poured down his throat, a wet press against his skin.

When he awoke for good, the pain had dwindled to a dull throb. He was sore all over, but had strength enough to push himself up on one arm as he looked for Jaskier. It didn’t take long. Jaskier hadn’t gone far, and was curled up, his head on his knees and his arms around his legs. His breaths were steady and long, as he seemed to have lost his battle against sleep.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice raspy from misuse.

Jaskier startled awake and wobbled a little as he turned to Geralt. His eyes were tinged with relief and he scrambled over to Geralt, his limbs heavy and clunky.

“You’re awake,” Jaskier said, his hands moving over Geralt’s body to particular spots, likely where he had been wounded. “How do you feel?”

“Sore. But better. You haven’t slept,” Geralt answered. He took Jaskier’s hand and tried to tug him down, to lay with Geralt, but Jaskier resisted.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier said, waving him away. 

He pushed aside the blanket covering Geralt, exposing his abdomen. Apparently, Jaskier had removed his shirt, and Geralt could understand why when he saw the long line on his stomach where a cockatrice had grappled him. Geralt was sure that one had looked horrible, but now it had been stitched up and was starting to close. It was impossible to tell without asking how long Geralt had been asleep, but clearly it had been a while. The sun was up now, and his wounds were much closer to healed than Geralt would have expected.

Jaskier leaned in and pressed a kiss to the edge of the wound.

“You look significantly more alive now,” Jaskier said, huffing a humorless laugh.

“Thanks to you,” Geralt answered, trying again to tug Jaskier close to him. This time, Jaskier went willingly, though he didn’t relax fully. Instead, he trailed his fingers over more cuts and bruises, then followed his fingers with his mouth. 

“Are you going to kiss every one?” Geralt teased.

“Of course I am,” Jaskier said, pressing himself up on his forearms and looking at Geralt seriously. “They get better faster if I do.”

Geralt scoffed. “Do they?”

“They do.” His voice was so earnest, Geralt’s heart ached with it. “It’s my magic. Kisses take away the pain and help to heal.”

It was completely illogical, but Geralt found he had no further argument for Jaskier. He only watched as Jaskier found every mark and pressed a soft kiss to it. When he was finally satisfied, he curled up against Geralt, his head on Geralt’s shoulder, and allowed himself to fall asleep.

Geralt laid there, his arms around his bard, keeping him safe while he slept, just as Jaskier had done for him.

\--

It took another several weeks for Geralt to finally find his nerve.

Things had been blissful, which was why it took so long to build his courage. He was getting better at telling Jaskier when he liked the things Jaskier did for him, and every time Jaskier lit up like the sun. It wasn’t easy for Geralt, actually using his words, but Jaskier rewarded him so beautifully for it, that he found it wasn’t all that hard, either. If all he had to do to make Jaskier happy was tell Jaskier when  _ he _ was happy, then Geralt found he could do that.

But still, Jaskier hadn’t told him he loved him.

On some level, Geralt knew that he did. He still couldn’t reconcile that innate knowledge, though, with the fact that Jaskier had  _ always _ been comfortable with his feelings. When he knew they would be accepted, that was. Which made Geralt have to question: was Jaskier afraid his affections would not be accepted by Geralt?

Geralt waited until they had an easy night. They were in the forest, with a large fire before them, but the night was warm enough that it was largely for light. Jaskier’s fingers moved across his lute like second nature, and the song he was composing, Geralt knew it was only for Geralt. It was dirty, and filled with ridiculous puns, and every time Jaskier came up with a truly horrible line, he glanced at Geralt with a wicked grin. It was easy. It was comfortable.

Maybe Geralt should have examined why he felt the need to mess with that.

“Do you love me?” Geralt asked, keeping his eye on Roach as he brushed her.

Jaskier’s response was immediate. He stopped playing, stopped singing, and the silence that overtook them as Jaskier set his lute on the ground suffocated Geralt.

“What did you say?” Jaskier asked, and when Geralt turned to face him, his expression was bewildered. He definitely had heard, then. Something about Geralt’s question was ridiculous.

“Nothing. Never mind,” Geralt said. Jaskier’s expression had lost Geralt his nerve, and he packed away Roach’s grooming supplies.

“No, absolutely not,” Jaskier insisted. “We’re discussing this. Do I love you? Why are you asking me that, Geralt? I can’t answer until I know what question you’re  _ really _ seeking an answer for.”

Geralt groaned inwardly. He should have kept his mouth shut. He wanted to deny again, but Jaskier’s eyes brokered no argument. Geralt had trapped himself, and now he would have to face this, head on. At least he would have answers. As he sat down on a stump a few feet away from where Jaskier was sitting on the grass, Geralt shrugged. Nonchalant, though he was anything but.

“You don’t say it. You talk, endlessly, and you say every thought and feeling you’ve had about anyone. And that day, you said it over and over. But you haven’t said it since. And I wanted… to check. That you’re happy here. That your feelings have not changed.” Geralt tried hard to keep his voice steady. He had never felt quite like this, like his stomach was in his throat and if he wasn’t careful he would vomit it out. He chanced a glance up at Jaskier, but when he saw Jaskier’s expression (which he could only describe as  _ heartbroken _ ), he snapped his eyes to the fire before him. Anything to avoid betraying too much on his own face.

“Geralt, have you really been worried about this?” Jaskier asked, scooting closer to Geralt. Geralt didn't answer, but Jaskier huffed as if he had. “Darling, of course I do.”

“Then why haven’t you said it? You’ve told me, at length, how your words are your weapons and how words have  _ meaning _ . You express yourself with words.” Geralt felt petulant, but he couldn’t help it. He thought hearing Jaskier confirm that he did love Geralt would help, but Jaskier still hadn’t  _ said it _ , only responded with an affirmation.

“But you  _ don’t _ . Last time I told you, you could barely look at me.” Jaskier came even closer, draping himself over Geralt’s legs. Still, Geralt could not look at him. Jaskier sighed. “You can’t even look at me  _ now _ . You do so much better with actions than with words, and I didn’t want to make you abashed by waxing poetic about how I feel for you. So I’ve been  _ trying _ to show you, rather than tell you. Have I not been doing enough?”

Geralt sighed, and forced himself to look down at Jaskier. He regretted it, regretted seeing how concerned Jaskier looked and the way his eyes were wide and almost wet. Still, he looked at Jaskier.

“Darling,” Jaskier continued, his lips finally pulling into a small smile. “I love you. With all my heart. I’ve been trying to say it how  _ you _ say it, through service. When I sing your songs, I’m telling the public how good you are, how worthy of affection you are. When I wash your hair, I’m telling you I want to take care of you. When I kiss your wounds, I’m telling you I want you safe and healthy. When I make you ties that match my clothes, or braid your hair, I’m telling the whole world that you’re mine. I’m telling you I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

Jaskier rested his head on his arms, which rested on Geralt’s knees. He looked up at Geralt with adoration clearly written on his face and Geralt could have kissed him. He could have kissed him breathless and then taken him apart until Jaskier had no words left, was only a puddle of  _ want _ . And Geralt would do that, eventually, but now, Jaskier deserved some of his own language.

It seemed so obvious now, laid out like this. Jaskier had been telling Geralt he loved him all along, and while Geralt had  _ felt _ it, he hadn’t understood it.

“Thank you,” Geralt said, and winced, because it sounded so juvenile. “For telling me in terms I understood, I mean. For showing me. But you can, and should, tell me in ways you know how, too. And. I can tell you back, in your ways, as well.”

He cupped Jaskier’s face, and Jaskier followed his direction. Geralt got down off the stump and to his knees, leading Jaskier to high knees as well. One hand stayed on Jaskier’s face, while his other wound around Jaskier’s waist. Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s while his thumb ran over Jaskier’s cheekbone.

“I love you. I love when you’re here and I hate when I have to leave you. I love watching you perform and compose and sing ridiculous, dirty songs just to make me roll my eyes. I want the world to know you’re mine, and that I am yours, and I will show that in any way you see fit.” Geralt paused, pressed a quick kiss to Jaskier’s lips, and pulled back just enough to see Jaskier’s face. When Geralt remained silent, Jaskier’s eyes opened, a question on his lips, but Geralt cut him off. “You asked me once what you were to me.”

Jaskier nodded. “I did. You said yours.” He smiled, like Geralt’s answer had been precious to him. Geralt nodded back.

“Mine. My lover, my suitor. My partner, my companion, my  _ beloved _ .” Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat again, and both his hands came up to cup Geralt’s face. “My everything.”

Only after he had gotten the words out, did Geralt allow himself to fully kiss Jaskier and be kissed in return. It was intoxicating, knowing that he held Jaskier between his hands, and that Jaskier was his, would always be his, and that there was love between them. Geralt was sure he could never tire of the feeling.

Jaskier was his everything.

**Author's Note:**

> i'd love if y'all hung out with me on tumblr! you can send me more prompt requests that may get out of hand.
> 
> lesdemonium.tumblr.com


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